


See You Soon

by MoonBalloon



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Out, Crying, Eventual Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonBalloon/pseuds/MoonBalloon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They parted on unsettled terms and a lot can change in eight months.</p><p>He doesn't want change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In a telescope lens, when all you want is friends

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the timeline and tour dates. The Leeds party in this fic, for one, happened after 1D had started touring instead of on Valentine’s 2013.  
> (To the tune of Coldplay’s "See You Soon.")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s never been one to do things halfway; he means to talk about it, he does. But Grimmy is a master of avoidance and Harry doesn’t want to ruin what precious time they have together before he goes off on a tour that will keep him away for the better part of the year.

They parted on unsettled terms.

Harry’s never been one to do things halfway; he means to talk about it, he does. But Grimmy is a master of avoidance and Harry doesn’t want to ruin what precious time they have together before he goes off on a tour that will keep him away for the better part of the year.

_A lot can change in eight months._

Harry tries telling Nick otherwise. He’s near pleading one night when – fueled by too many glasses of the whiskey he’s drunk to impress an equally drunk Nick – he presses his oldest necklace into Nick’s palm and hopes he will understand the symbolism.

He doesn’t.

Nick isn’t as oblivious as he seems, however. He returns the necklace to Harry the next morning with a nonchalant, “Stop leaving your popstar shit all over my place” and a grin.

Harry grins right back and fakes relief at having the bloody thing back.

Nick’s eyes are a little too understanding as Harry slips the necklace over his own head again.

-//-

They parted on unsettled terms, so Harry doesn’t see a problem with getting too cozy with a random bloke at a friend’s uni party in Leeds.

(No problem at all when Grimmy chose to spend the night before with a _friend_ and quite blatantly brag about it on fucking _national radio_ the next morning… Harry used to be that friend once.)

The text Harry receives from Nick after the photos of the guy licking his cheek go up on Twitter (of course) makes him want to throw his phone at the wall.

_proper fit, that one!! get it iiiiiiiiiiiiiinn ; ) xxx_

Harry goes back to the hotel alone and abandons his room for the warmth of Louis’ bed. Louis doesn’t question him when he lays his head on his lap, just passes him the clicker and pets his hair soothingly.

The sharp pain in his chest subsides to a dull ache.

-//-

Nick fakes all sorts of excuses not to be alone with Harry for two weeks after the Leeds party. Lunch with the production team of his new TV show, meeting with Producer Claire – _I don’t just pull the brilliant shows out of my arse, you know, Harold_ – Thurston’s appointment with the vet… Somehow, in Nick’s passive effort to punish Harry for sleeping with someone he didn’t actually sleep with, the fact that this is the only break Harry has before his numerous shows in the Continent falls by the wayside.

Harry spends the entire time being moody and dancing half-heartedly on stage, remembering the last time he came to Cologne for a signing and Nick spent the entire two days texting him silly things that had nothing to do with anything but were intimate all the same. They’re still best friends; they spend an increasing amount of time together whenever they can, but ever since the tour’s kicked off, Nick is careful not to get too close. He begs out of Harry’s advances, claiming headaches or drunkenness or early morning wakeups, _soz babe_ , and… and Harry doesn’t know at what point everything changed.

He asks Nick once they’re back in London before a string of shows in the city and Nick – in true Grimshaw fashion – denies it all, chalks it up to Harry’s overtired brain and Nick’s hectic schedule. Harry keeps with it though, following Zayn’s advice and pressing Nick for answers until Nick pushes him into the couch in exasperation and swallows his cock.

One day, Harry will stop being so easy for this man.

-//-

Harry doesn’t spend the night. By the time he gets to Zayn’s, it’s three in the morning and he can tell by Zayn’s expression that he’s ready to tear Harry a new asshole for waking him at this “ungodly” hour. He puts on his best kicked-puppy pout, doesn’t have to exaggerate much, really, and Zayn sighs before standing aside to let him in.

“Why don’t you just end it?”

Harry shrugs, “I think he has? Must have not got the message.” He laughs, mirthless.

Zayn rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about melodramatic teenagers. Which, yeah, fine, Harry is a teenager, but Zayn’s not that far from still being one either, so where does he get off? He’s not about to start a pointless, oft-repeated, argument with someone who’s handing him a pair of sleep shorts and a blanket, and gesturing wordlessly at a spare bedroom though. The blanket drags behind Harry as he follows Zayn into his bedroom. After all, Perrie’s not home.

Zayn throws his hands in the air in frustration when Harry crawls into bed next to him, huffs and turns away. Harry shuffles closer and prods Zayn in the back until he turns and puts an arm around Harry.

It’s not the same, but at least it’s familiar.

-//-

Harry spends the rest of the break in L.A. with Cal and his wife. His kid runs around the house and Harry finds playing cops and robbers with a four year old is a great way to take his mind off heartbreak. He trades photos of the Lego houses he builds with Cal’s kid for houses Ed builds before shows to relax, but it’s sporadic because Ed’s busy touring. So he texts Gemma a lot until she reminds him gently that long-distance costs her extra. Louis’s on holiday with Eleanor, Niall’s in Mullingar, Liam's playing house with Dani, Zayn doesn’t return texts until three days later, and Harry’s run out of people to distract himself with.

The last text he sent to Nick was one asking him if he wanted to go out for drinks, just the two of them, the night before Harry left for L.A.

Nick replied in the negative but added a _safe flight_ , _gonna miss you :( xxx_.  
The three Xs at the end mean nothing, Harry knows.

-//-

Nick comes to a few of their shows in London once the break is over, hugs him before concerts and wishes him good luck. Harry tries not to look at Nick while singing ‘Over Again.’

It gets easier once Harry’s left Europe. The short trips home in between shows are nonexistent now, and Nick seems to like him more from six thousand miles away. They call each other when they can and Harry asks about Nick’s show, Finchy and Aimee and Pix, and even Thurston, who he misses despite not being a dog person.

Nick asks Harry how much pussy he’s getting from the American girls, but ends the calls with a quiet “miss you, popstar”.

Harry doesn’t know what to make of it.


	2. In a bullet proof vest with the windows all closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Harry feels Nick’s arms twitch around him like he’s reluctant to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure of what I've done here... Let me know what you think, please?

They get a few days off in the middle of July. The break is almost a week long and the boys are nearly weeping with relief. Niall leaves first with hugs and kisses to their cheeks; takes a plane straight to Dublin, and the rest of them take a flight back to London later in the evening.

It’s all very discreet; they arrange a route out through the back of the airport using service hallways and security doors. As promised, Eleanor, Ant, and Dani are waiting, and next to them, looking like he’s not quite sure how he managed to get there, is Nick.

Harry gets tunnel vision. He doesn’t see Louis, Liam, and Zayn sigh with relief at the sight of Nick, doesn’t see Zayn sag into Ant’s arms or Liam wrapped around Danielle. He sees only Nick in his old Dr. Dre T-shirt, quiff wilting in the humidity. When Nick raises his arms in invitation, Harry drops his bag where he stands, ignoring Liam’s cry of _I’ll just put these in the boot for you then, shall I!?_ , and launches himself into Nick arms.

His eyes are wet, but he clenches his hand around a fistful of Nick’s shirt and forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat. The comforting sound of Nick murmuring reassurances and ‘missed you too, love’ wraps around his senses and even if Harry can’t quite make out the words, it soothes him enough that he can push down his sobs and pull away.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Harry feels Nick’s arms twitch around him like he’s reluctant to let go.

The cab ride home is silent, but Harry doesn’t mind because Nick lets him cling to his arm the whole way through. He dozes on and off on Nick’s shoulder, vaguely registering Nick’s hand resting on his thigh and the other cupping his far shoulder. It’s cozy and warm despite the AC in the cab, and it’s the most peaceful nap Harry has had in six months.

He expects to find himself outside Nick’s flat when he wakes – it’s always been the first place he goes to after coming back to London – but no, Nick gently shakes him awake before leading him up the driveway to Harry’s front door.

“M’gonna get your bags and pay the cabbie, all right?”

Harry nods; there’s not much he can say when a lump of confusion and hurt is forming in his throat again.

Harry waits until Nick is back to get into the house. It smells stale and dusty, unlived in, but that’s not much different from the usual. He never stays here for long, doesn’t like being alone. He wouldn’t have bought the place, would have just stayed with Louis, but Eleanor is planning to move to London after uni and it’s not fair to ask her to keep living with him.

He doesn’t exactly regret buying the house _– real estate in this neighborhood is an investment,_ Robin had said – but as he looks around the nearly unfurnished skeleton of a home, he thinks of Nick’s flat and the broken dishwasher there, and finds that feels more like home than this shell of a house ever will.

-//-

They order in because there’s nothing edible in Harry’s house and watch a MasterChef rerun. They’ve seen it before, but Nick still squawks in indignation when Harry “spoils” the ending. This is what Harry loves best about being with Nick, their quiet nights together. Well, if only Nick actually allowed Harry to _be_ with him.

But Nick only allows Harry to cuddle into his side, head on his shoulder, thigh pressed to his. Harry will take what he can get. He buries his head in Nick’s neck during a commercial break, stifling a yawn. Nick is not fooled.

“Bed, little popstar. Come on.” He holds his hands out for Harry to take.

Harry goes with him willingly; he _is_ tired and Nick is leading him to bed and he’ll take that if that’s all Nick will give him. He stumbles over his feet a bit - nothing unusual, really - and Nick steadies him with an arm curled around his waist. Harry leans into his hand, his heart in his throat at the familiar _pleasure_ of Nick’s touch.

When they reach the cold bedroom, Nick is apprehensive, watching Harry strip down to his briefs before getting in bed. Harry, on his part, tries not to look too hopeful. When Nick just stands at the foot of the bed, watching Harry burrow down beneath the blankets, Harry stretches his arms out and makes grabby fingers at Nick.

“Bed’s cold,” he pouts, hoping if he lightens the tension, Nick won’t mind slipping into bed with him again.

It works, sort of. Nick sheds his jeans, keeps his shirt on, and settles next to Harry on the bed. Harry turns on his side. Nick takes one look at his wide eyes and bitten lips and sighs, lifts his arm for Harry to lay his head on his chest. Harry takes a chance and slips his thigh between Nick’s, who freezes.

Harry bites his lips, nervous all over again, but in for a penny, in for a pound, right? He takes a deep breath, looks down and plucks at the lint on Nick’s shirt, asks, “Can I kiss you?”

He feels Nick’s breath hitch in his chest, but he dare not look up at his face.

His answer comes in a soft voice, “No, Harry. I shouldn’t have come at all. Niall – he asked and, well. That’s no matter now; I should go.”

 _Niall_.

Nick makes to get up, but Harry clutches at his shirt, sits up with him. “Please don’t. Please stay, just for tonight. I just want – I won’t ask for anything again, ever.”

Nick shakes his head sadly, “You will though.”

Harry deflates a bit at that, because Nick is right and he will, but he can't stop himself from asking again.

“Just tonight. All I want is tonight.” He bites the inside of his cheeks to keep his chin from wobbling, but he can feel his chin dimpling like it does when he’s about to cry. Harry is an easy crier at best, but he refuses to blink and let the tears fall this time.

Nick’s face crumples for a second at the sight before he schools his features back. “Just tonight,” he whispers as he sinks back down into the pillows.

He doesn’t protest when Harry leans over to kiss him. He stays still, keeps a steady hand at the small of Harry’s back. Harry’s heart soars when he starts kissing back, moving his lips across Harry’s almost urgently. He fists Nick’s shirt, slots his leg between Nick’s properly, crouching over him on one knee. He pulls away to kiss down Nick’s jaw, kissing and sucking and licking until he reaches the end of his left collarbone where Nick likes to be marked. Nick’s moan is his best reward and he sucks the skin between his teeth and bites, making Nick hiss and groan. He laves at it to soothe the itch that comes with blood rushing to one place, and it’s thrilling, this thought of _marking_ Nick even if he can’t make him his.

Nick pushes him off when Harry starts rutting against him, moans of his own falling thick and fast from his lips. Harry is afraid for a moment that Nick will pull away, and he’s ready to beg again, but Nick only settles over him, between his thighs so their cocks are fitted and rubbing against each other.

It’s the best thing Nick’s felt in a long while and he wonders for a second why he wants to deny himself this, deny Harry when he makes him feel so incredible. But Harry moans his name and slips a hand between them and all the reasons for staying well away from Harry come rushing back. He pushes them back for the moment; he’ll give himself this one last night with Harry.

Harry’s desperate under him, already hard, and Nick’s going the same way if the insistence of his own hands against Harry’s skin is any indication. He kisses him deeply, taking everything he can and drawing out long moans from Harry’s lips. Harry arches up and grinds against him as best as he can with Nick’s hand holding him down by the hips. Nick’s other hand is next to Harry’s head, curled into his hair, pulling occasionally the way Nick knows he likes.

Harry’s succeeded in getting his own pants off now and starts to work on Nick’s. Nick lifts his hips to help, refusing to let go of his lips. Harry pulls away for a quick breath, looks down and pushes Nick’s pants off his hips and past his bum. Nick shimmies it off the rest of the way, then pulls his shirt over his head. They both sigh in relief when their naked cocks touch each other; Harry’s already dripping precome and it makes it easier for them to slide against each other. Nick could probably get off like this, but Harry pants his name as he kisses across his throat and asks Nick to fuck him, _needs_ it.

Harry fumbles around his side table while Nick sucks at his hip and teases his hole with the tip of one finger, then presses the bottle of lube into his hand. Nick takes it with shaking fingers, squeezes some out on his fingers and presses them against Harry’s hole. Harry’s drawn up tight, clenched, and Nick doesn’t want to force it. So he kisses back up his body, kisses Harry’s cheeks before moving on to the sensitive space behind his ears.

“Let go, babe. Relax for me, can you do that?” He whispers it slowly into Harry’s ear, flicking the outer shell with his tongue.

Harry takes a deep, shuddering breath and his grip on Nick’s arm loosens. He nods, “Yeah, I can – I can do that. I just need –”

Nick doesn’t let him finish, kisses his lips and whispers against his mouth, “I’ve got you, Hazza. I’ve got you, just let go and let me take care of you.”

Harry nods again, shifts, and Nick can feel him sag in his arms. He moves down again and presses his still slick fingers against Harry, pushing in gently, opening him up slowly and carefully. He kisses Harry’s hip when he whines at the pressure, then licks up Harry’s dick, sucking at the tip when he pulls his finger out and goes back in with two. Harry’s hips buck up; Nick keeps him still with a hand to his hip. He works Harry up to three fingers slowly, squeezing his fingers together and curling them up to press against his prostate. Harry yelps, then grinds down against his fingers. Nick’s memory hasn’t done Harry justice; he’s much more beautiful than he remembers, much more flushed and eager and tight, so tight. He moves up to kiss Harry’s lips; the angle is a little awkward for his fingers, but he can see Harry needs this, an anchor.

Once his fingers are in to the hilt, Harry starts to whine, “Nick, please, I need you to – please, fuck me, want you in me.”

Nick’s left momentarily speechless at the sheer desperation clear in Harry’s face. He steels himself against the sharp pain in his chest, then pulls his fingers out. Harry makes a small, distressed sound at the sudden emptiness and Nick kisses him quiet, murmuring _patience, popstar_ against his mouth.

He digs around the top drawer for condoms while Harry rubs up against him, covering Nick’s hip in precome.

Harry shakes his head and reaches up to draw Nick’s hand back against him. “I don’t have condoms, but you can – we don’t need them. I’m clean; I haven’t been with anyone in months, please –”

“Harry…” Nick interrupts. Honestly, he’s floored that Harry trusts him enough for this. He hasn’t exactly been celibate since Harry went off on tour and all signs point to Harry being well aware of that. But.

“I trust you, I do. Please, I want to feel you.” Harry says, his voice breathy and soft and _pleading_ , and that breaks Nick’s last resolve.

“Yeah, okay. That’s – yeah.” Nick slicks up his finger again, rubbing the lube around Harry’s rim, pressing the tip in until he’s sure Harry gives way easily. He slicks himself up then, lines himself up with Harry and presses in slowly.

Harry arches his back and asks Nick, “Can you kiss me, please. I just need –”

There it is again, what Harry _needs_ , but his voice sounds so small and vulnerable and maybe he does need it. Nick can’t resist; he’s never been able to. He kisses Harry, soft and tender, keeps pressing himself inside him until he’s sheathed to the hilt.

He stays still, keeps kissing Harry and biting his already kissed-red lips until Harry moves against him, makes small noises of encouragement. Harry’s much tighter than Nick thought he would be, it’s almost hard to pull out, but he does it carefully, then pushes back in.

By the time Nick’s gained a rhythm, Harry is clawing at his back, trying to keep pace with his thrusts. Nick’s on edge already, so he lowers his hips more, presses his face into Harry’s neck, and starts short, shallow thrusts. When he calms down enough to pull back all the way and really start fucking into Harry, he lifts his head to see Harry’s eyes glistening with tears, tear tracks already dripping down to the side of his temple, and something inside Nick breaks. He licks the tears up, kisses the ones clinging to the corners of his eyes away, but Harry only sobs harder. Nick clamps his hand over Harry’s mouth when the words _Nick, I love_ leave his mouth and thankfully Harry doesn’t try to say it again. He whispers God knows what in Harry’s ear, hopes it’s soothing and not _let’s go home_ and _let’s never_ _stop_ and _I love you too_.

Harry implores Nick to touch him, sweet and pliant in his arms. Nick wraps his hand around his cock; he’s not even stroking properly, too caught up in the tight sensations of his cock inside Harry. There’s no rhythm to his touch, but it only takes four staccato strokes for Harry to come, sobbing and whimpering. Nick fucks into him in earnest then and he can tell it hurts Harry a little, but he can’t stop himself from pinning Harry down by the hips and plowing into him hard and fast, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back in. Harry’s eyes are open and still blown wide, and Nick tries to look reassuring, tries to tell him that he won’t hurt him again, but it’s futile. Harry’s too far gone to understand and that’s probably for the best.

Nick doesn’t ask if he can come inside Harry, just pushes in to the hilt and lets go, gritting his teeth against the prick of tears against his eyes. He manages to keep himself in check, and when he’s done expending himself inside Harry, he collapses on top of him, his heart pressed against him, beating a loud tattoo against his chest. He lifts up on his arms, strokes inside a few more times until every bit of him fills Harry up, until the sensation becomes painful and Harry says it’s _too much, Nick, it’s too much._

Nick pulls out slowly and presses his index finger into Harry again to keep his come inside, pumps a few times until Harry pushes his hand away, whining at the overstimulation. He wipes his fingers on the corner of the bed sheet and engulfs a shaking Harry in his arms. Harry pulls his face close, kisses him lazily, but his fingers are urgent around Nick’s arms as if he’s afraid Nick will leave if he lets go. Maybe he will; Nick doesn’t yet know.

Once Harry stops shaking, Nick gets up, only to have Harry pull at his arm. “Please don’t leave.”

Nick pushes Harry’s sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “M’not leaving, love. I’ll be right back, need ta’ clean you up.”

He returns with a towel he finds in the linen closet in the washroom. He wipes Harry’s come off his own chest, uses another corner to wipe more of Harry’s come off his ridiculous (lovely) butterfly tattoo, then turns it over to press against Harry’s hole, rubbing as gently as he can to clean him up.

After, Harry curls back into Nick’s chest, murmurs _stay, please_. Nick doesn’t answer.

“Want a shower?” he asks instead.

Harry shakes his head, “Just want to sleep.”

Nick nods even though Harry can’t see. “I should go then.”

Harry’s eyes fly open. “No, don’t – don’t leave, please.” His eyes are frantic as he looks up at Nick.

“Harry, you wanted –”

“One night, I asked for one night. Please.”

Nick sighs, “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“Nick –”

“Harry, I have work in the morning.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “Okay, that’s… fair. Can I call you? Tomorrow?”

“Of course, Harold.”

Harry seems satisfied then, or he would, if Nick didn’t know him as well as he does.

-//-

He wakes at five to his mobile blaring his alarm, and _shit_ he must have fallen asleep after Harry had. He scrambles to turn the alarm off before Harry wakes, but Harry’s already stirring against his chest. He turns to face Nick, grumbling. Then goes stiff as memories of last night flood back into his sleep-muddled brain.

“You stayed.” He seems happy for the first time since he’s come back.

“Must have fell asleep.” Nick tries to sound dismissive because he can’t admit to himself that he’s glad he’s stayed, that this was the best night’s sleep he’s had since February.

“I’ll make you breakfast.”

Nick starts to tell Harry he should go back to sleep, but his smile is wide and happy and he hasn’t the heart to say no.

Harry makes him a quick breakfast – scrambled eggs on toast with two strips of bacon on the side – and coffee with two sugars, the way he likes it.

He’s pulling on his shirt again when Harry asks him out for lunch later.

He sighs, “Harry, we can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

Harry bites his lips, seemingly comes to a decision, and asks, “Why not?” The set of his jaw is defiant and demanding. Nick would be glad that Harry’s standing up for himself, but… not now. Not for this.

Nick thinks about what he can say, settles for, “You can’t give me what I want.”

It’s harsh, but it was intended to be. Harry flinches visibly, takes a step back. The hard line of his chin trembles.

“What – what _do_ you want?” When Nick doesn’t answer, he continues, “If you want casual, I can do casual. We've done that before; we can – we don’t have to _be_ anything. I won’t ask you to stop,” he takes another deep breath, voice shaking, “stop seeing other people.”

“But _you_ won’t see other people,” Nick points out gently. He abhors the thought of Harry with someone else, but it’s better this way, he tells himself.

“I will! If that’s what you want, I will. It’s – the tour’s not done, I can see other people!”

“Harry, you said you wouldn’t ask for this.”

“I’m not asking for any – any labels. I just want you.” Harry’s biting his lips and he looks on the verge of tears, the kind that comes when you’re too frustrated, too vulnerable, too angry for words.

Nick figures it’s time to come clean. “Harry… I don’t want casual.”

Harry gapes at him.

Nick picks at his shirt, can’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “I want… labels; I want commitment.”

Harry hurriedly steps forward, until they’re feet to feet. “I can give you that,” he says earnestly. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, you know that. Why are you shaking your head, I’ve always said –”

“I want full commitment, Harry. I want… dates and – and to be shown off. I want declarations. You can’t give me that.” It’s stupid and childish and selfish, Nick knows, but he’s tired of his flippant lifestyle. He wants a clichéd, monogamous relationship, and he wants it with Harry, but no one has to know that part.

“I don’t understand.” Harry looks honestly confused, heartbroken, and Nick feels horrible for doing this to him, sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want to be doing this at half five in the morning.

“I’m going to be late for work, Harry.” He turns to head to the door, but Harry’s rushing forward and clutching his arm.

“Please, just – help me understand.”

Nick steels himself, turns, “You’re proper famous, Harry. You can’t just date me and get away with it, not with your career and four others' on the line.”

Understanding dawns on Harry’s face and he shakes his head frantically, “They don’t care and I’ve never cared. I’ve never hidden anything, or lied. It’s never been a big deal for me.”

Nick peels Harry’s fingers gently off his arm. “It _is_ a big deal though, Harry. People are insensitive and cruel, and I can’t have you go through that just because I want to be _shown off_.”

“I don’t fucking _care_ ,” Harry says fiercely. He pulls Nick in with surprising strength, presses a hard, bruising kiss to his lips, licks into his mouth, using his hands to turn Nick’s face the way he wants it. Nick staggers back at the force and grabs Harry’s arms to steady himself. He melts into the kiss because he can’t help himself and because this is all he’s ever wanted, really, and maybe things will be all right.

Harry moves away, toward his bedroom, leaving Nick breathless in the middle of the kitchen. When he comes back, seconds later, he’s wearing a T-shirt and clutching his wallet.

“I’m going to drive you to work,” he says resolutely. “I’m going to hold your hand while we go up to the den, and move the mics away from you while you talk, and kiss you between fills.”

Nick chokes on his words at this declaration, opens his mouth to say something though he doesn’t know what, only to be interrupted.

“Do you want me? If I can give you all that, would you want me?” The desperate edge is back in Harry’s voice again.

“Harry… Caroline will be crucified in the tabs.”

“Sod the tabs. I’ll explain if I have to, but I want this. I –” Something shifts in his eyes. Nick can see what’s coming and he realizes all over again how _brave_ Harry is, how deeply and openly he loves.

“I need you, Nick. I love you.” His shoulders drop like a weight’s been lifted off them.

Nick wants to lie, wants to tell him he doesn’t feel the same. But in the end, he looks at Harry, sees him for what he truly is. And he can’t.

-//-

They go out to a sushi bar the next night. Harry picks him up from his flat in his vintage Mercedes, nice and proper. He’s wearing a new shirt and a matching blazer, tight jeans and shiny shoes. Nick opts for a dress shirt, buttons open at the top.

When Harry slides his hand into Nick’s under the table while they wait for their order, Nick locks their fingers tightly together and says idly, “People will see.”

Harry shrugs. “Let them see.”


End file.
